As promised

Our ward had a Country Fair Saturday night - it's an annual event, not to be missed, and very well attended.

Every year, there's a pie-eating contest (pans full of pudding and whipped cream - no hands allowed). Every year, I photograph the contest. Every year, our Activities director stands on the hay-trailer stage and tries to get pie-eating contestants to come up. Every year, several people hide behind hay bales to avoid being spotted.

I've always been grateful that holding the camera exempts me from the contest.
So last Saturday, as I stood near the stage with my camera, poised to capture the women's round, my friend Mrs. G, (who was standing on the stage with her pie) looked down at me and mouthed, "Why don't you do this?"

I held up my camera and mouthed, "I'm taking pictures."

Then she said it:

"Chicken."

Ack. Year of No Fear. I knew I had to go. I set my camera on the table and grabbed myself a pie. (I'm told, although I didn't notice, that something of a hush came over the crowd, as if this had just gotten serious.)

My friend Mrs. F picked up my camera, and I stepped onto the stage with five other women.

On the signal, we dove into our pies, and I was nearly done when a pie fight erupted next to me. I heard the words, "Mrs. G's done," and I stood up. As it turns out, Mrs. G might have been done, but she had enough pie left to throw at me (fantastic aim, considering there were 2 women pie-fighting between us), so I picked up my pie and leaned across the table to serve her a pan-full. (Really! It was just a lean! And the photo that looks more like a lunge will NEVER SURFACE.)

That's when the legs broke right off the already-rickety table (I have witnesses to back the rickitiness up), and the table collapsed flat onto the stage, taking me (and only me) right along with it.

My thoughts went something like this:

STANDUPSTANDUPSTANDUP!

STUPID, STUPID YEAR OF NO FEAR!

Can I move out of this ward before church tomorrow?

Or maybe can I please, please just die now?

But even when you're waving goodbye to your will to live, having friends to laugh with helps a whole heap. Several of us hid behind the stage and laughed ourselves sick as we mopped pudding off ourselves with paper towels, and tried to find the courage to emerge from our hiding place.

Some ensuing comments from that night:

"Wow! When Mrs. B shows up, it's not a pie eating contest anymore . . . it's WWF!"

and

"You didn't even win? All those wasted calories!"

and my favorite,

"Ok, seriously, how's my hair?"

And from the pulpit in Sacrament Meeting the next day (it came up no less than five times in Testimony meeting . . . mostly from High Priests):

"I think the sisters in our ward are in need of some counsel after the display at the fair last night."

and

"I thought I was scared of some things before. After last night, I'm definitely scared of the Relief Society."

So, depending on your perspective this could be Year of No Fear gone wrong, with a side of burning humiliation. But when I looked at the pictures (that were expertly captured by Mrs. F with my own camera, thank heavens), and I found this one . . .


. . . I decided that a side of humiliation isn't much next to a huge helping of memories made with good friends.